


God Damn Monster Hunting

by EdgarAllenPoet



Series: Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Barclay/Mama mentioned, Gen, Monster Hunters, Pre-Canon, Shooting Guns, an unprecedented amount of swearing, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: “Aim and shoot, Thacker, come on.”But you see, the more Thacker concentrated, the worse his hands shook.





	God Damn Monster Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: shaking hands
> 
> prompts courtesy of @whumptober2019

Thacker aimed, closed one eye, took a deep breath, and stiffened the muscles from his fingers all the way down his back. He curled his toes. He breathed. 

“You got this.” 

He got this. It was just a measly tin-can, and this wasn’t even a big shot. Not like Maddie’s gun, and oof, that had been poor judgment on all of their parts, the first time they had him shoot that. Bruised his shoulder to the bone and had it purple for nearin’ three weeks. He wasn’t shooting anything larger than his foot if he could ever help it. 

“Just aim, breathe, and pull the trigger.” 

That was easy, right? Just three things. Barclay could do it, and that kid was from an alien planet. Mighta’ been an alien planet with guns– Thacker couldn’t be sure one way or another– but it wasn’t a planet with human guns. A damn alien couldn’t be better at this human shit than Thacker. 

“It’s right there, just thirty yards. Yards, right? What kind of measurement is that anyways? I think it’s yards.” 

Was that racist? Racist against aliens? Or would that be xenophobic? Yeah, probably that, though Thacker didn’t have anything against the kid or his people. He was just frustrated. Frustrated, and if he had to admit it, scared. But that wasn’t Barclay’s fault. The only thing Thacker hated was the monsters.

“Aim and shoot, Thacker, come on.” 

But you see, the more Thacker concentrated, the worst his hands shook. He wasn’t built for this, wasn’t strong. His mother had shaking hands, back in the day, ever since she was a young woman. Maybe he inherited it. Maybe he was just too stringy. He took a deep breathe, heeding Barclay’s advice, shifted his grip and adjusted his aim. 

He breathed deep, steadied his hands, pulled the trigger….. the gun jerked in his hands and he missed. 

“_God damn it!” _

“Hey that’s alright, you got another three shots in there, you can–” 

“I can miss another three times, is what I can do. Enough’a this, I’m through.” Thacker wasn’t like this. Thacker wasn’t the most patient person, but he didn’t tend to go losin’ his temper, flyin’ off the handle, and shoutin’ at people. He liked to keep quiet, keep to himself. He thought of himself as something of a hippie, though he was a generation too young for all that nonsense, just a boy during the flower power and all that. He’d never touched a gun before. Maybe he didn’t _want_ to. 

Barclay wouldn’t let up.

“Just try again, it just takes some getting used to. We can set up a bigger target, I mean, the abominations are bigger than just a tin can–” 

“Bigger an’ _moving. _Bigger and tryin’ ta _bite my ass_. You wanna go run around out there, go full Big Foot and we’ll see if I have any better luck, how’about that!?” 

Thacker didn’t realize that he was shouting, didn’t realize what he was _saying_ until he saw the look on Barclay’s face. The hesitation that creased his eyebrow and had him take a half-step back, hands falling from when they’d been reaching forwards.

And then Madeline was there. 

“What in the Sam Hell are the two of you doin’? I thought this was shootin’ practice, not a damn Kepler High debate team practice.” She came to stand between them, hands on her hips. She was wearing heavy work jeans cut off just above the knees to make shorts, leather boots, and a shirt with a fish on it that said ‘French Crick.’ Sweat rolled down her temple and darkened the neck of her t-shirt. Thacker rarely realized how tall either of them were– he’d gotten so used to it– but seeing them standing right next to each other and already feeling so cornered, he couldn’t help but notice. 

Madeline looked between Thacker and Barclay, expression clearly irritated and impatient. She said, “What?” and then looked back again at Barclay and said, “What? What’s the matter?” 

She reached out and thumped Thacker on the arm, smacking him hard enough to sting, and he cringed. She obviously had no fear of firearms. Didn’t seem to give a _shit_ that he was holding one, went along hitting him anyways. 

“What did’ya do to ‘im?” she demanded, stepping a bit to stand more firmly in front of Barclay, like he was someone that needed defending. Christ, they were both over a decade younger than him. Damn kids– younger, _stronger_, braver than he was. Good at shootin’ and made for fightin’ monsters. God damn ‘em. 

“He didn’t do anything,” Barclay said, voice gentle the way it was 90% of the time. Now though it was nearly a mumble. 

“Don’t you go takin’ your temper out on Barclay, he ain’t done anything to you.” And now he had to deal with the both of them– Barclay with his damn sweet well-meaning-ness, and Mama with her damn preachin’. 

“I ain’t doin’ this today,” he decided, and he set the gun down on the nearby stump they were keeping their gear on, and he started stomping back through the woods, back towards his place. He could go inside and lock the door, let them fuckin’ _walk_ home. Let that serve as payback. 

“Get yer ass back here, Thacker!” Madeline yelled, voice booming the way it always did. 

He didn’t get his ass back anywhere, just to his house. He didn’t lock the door when he got there either, though, trusting them to give him time to cool down before they let themselves inside to bother him some more. 

God damn monster hunting. Who’d they think he was, anyways? 

—

“You got this!” 

Barclay was obviously doing everything in his power to keep himself calm and under control. His voice was still edging towards frantic, and there was panic in his eyes. He was panting, eyes darting around and hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to decide what to do. 

But he was bleeding, his eyebrow split and a pool of dark liquid seeping through his shirt just under his ribs. His eye was bruised, and it would get worse.

“Shoot ‘im!” Mama hollered.

Barclay was unarmed, holding pressure to the wound on his side and breathing through his teeth. He slumped back against a tree. He couldn’t have held a gun if he tried. 

“Aim, breathe, and pull the trigger,” Barclay coached. 

“Shoot ‘im! Fuckin’ shoot ‘im, Thacker!” 

Mama was wrestling the beast, trying to hold it still and keep it from slithering away– a twenty foot long python made of pure muscle that sprayed liquid from its fangs– and if Thacker missed he’d hit her. 

“I’m lettin’ ‘im go!” she yelled. “On three, you shoot–” 

“You got this,” Barclay said, breath heaving. 

“One!” 

Fuck, fuck, Thacker was gonna miss, Thacker was gonna hit her, Thacker was gonna get them all fuckn’ killed. 

“Two!” 

Fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck—-

“Three!” 

She released it, she dove sideways, Thacker closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. 

The gun kicked back, jerking in his hands, the shot rang out like a hammer to his ear drums, something screamed, something hit the ground with a thump, Thacker opened his eyes and found it dead on the ground, dissolving into a pool of light. 

“Fuck,” he said out loud. 

“Fuck,” Madeline echoed him.

“Fuck,” Barclay coughed, and a second thump had Thacker turning, seeing him as he fell to the ground. “Ow, fuck, okay this is the _worst.” _

_“_Did I shoot you?” Thacker asked, adrenaline soaring in him and making his head spin. Mama laughed, voice bouncing, as she stomped past Thacker to check on him. “Don’t you pass out on me,” she scolded him, and then, “And don’t _you_ bleed out in the middle of the God damn woods, Barclay, what the _hell_ were you _thinkin’_.” 

“You literally just wrestled the thing, I don’t wanna _hear it_.” Barclay’s voice was hoarse and breathy. 

Mama said, “You better help me carry ‘im, he’s big and he’s gonna be all dead weight.” 

Thacker couldn’t feel his tongue in his mouth. “He ain’t dead,” he said, not believing himself. Was Barclay dead? Had Thacker shot him somehow? What killed the beast, then?

Mama snapped, let out a sharp dog whistle. She said, “Hey. _Hey_. A little help here’d be nice.” 

“I can walk,” Barclay protested. “Mama, you get offa me, I’m _fine_.” 

Mama hauled him to his feet, got his legs under him, and Thacker’s legs moved without him to move him over towards them. Barclay groaned, and he nearly collapsed as his legs turned to jell-o. Thacker got his body back to himself, then, as he surged forwards to help catch him. Why the boy had to be seven damn feet tall and couldn’t be _five foot nothin’ instead_ was just a sick trick of the universe. He’d be easier to carry if he was just a twig of the thing. 

“Your hands are shaking,” Barclay said, grin obviously teasing. Thacker blinked, looked down at where Barclay was holding on of his own in an iron grip. Thacker hauled him up a little higher. hoping his strength held the whole time. 

“So’re yours,” he replied. Barclay grinned. There was blood in his teeth. 

“Enough talkin’, let’s fuckin’ go,” Mama ordered, starting to drag them on back through the woods, probably towards the truck and then back to her apartment. Barclay was sleeping on her couch– or maybe _somewhere else_– Thacker didn’t ask, didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. If they were sweet on each other, well, he’d have plenty of time to tease ‘em about it later. 

Later, when Barclay was laying on Mama’s ratty old couch, head propped on one arm rest and feet hanging off the other, he rolled his head to the side and caught Thacker with a grin. He was awful sweet for someone so gangly and grizzly.

“Nice shot, by the way,” he said.

“Guess I just needed Maddie’s screamin’ for some proper motivation.” That got a laugh outta him, pain, whiskey, and Tylenol obviously going to his head. He laughed, high-pitched and then a belly laugh, and Mama’s shout came from the bathroom just down the hall. 

“Make him pull his stitches and I’m beatin’ _both’a you_, I ain’t patching him up again!” Barclay laughed harder, wiping tears from his eyes, and Thacker couldn’t help joining him as laughter started to bubble out. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, go read Ménage a Trios by gayprophets. It inspired this. In fact, just go read all their shit.


End file.
